Hopes and Schemes
by Ann29
Summary: A prequel to TaleSpin's awesome movie, Plunder and Lightning.
1. Chapter 1

**Hopes and Schemes****  
part 1**

_TaleSpin_ and its characters are property of Disney. All other characters are mine and cannot be used without permission.

_**Riversidle, Californea  
October 1936  
Twilight**_

In the living room of a modest, white, two-story house located in the middle of a modest residential area in the growing metropolis of Riversidle, five-year-old Molly Cunningham was perched on the arm of the couch, turning the radio knob in an attempt to find her favorite program.

The little yellow bearess paused when she heard an announcer say, "...brought to you by Gloss-O-Matic. When your floor has lost that showroom sheen, buy..."

"...a new romantic, dramatic, comedic, action-packed cinematic epic starring Kitten Kaboodle as..."

"...Broadcast Sally," said a velvety voiced woman, "playing all your favorites on this _beautiful_ Wednesday evening. Next up is Rosebeary Clooney singing..."

"...bottom of the 7th of the Series," a deep voice said. "Sox leading the Pirates 3-1. Two men out. Grover Bearenson at bat. There's the windup, the pitch and..." _Crack!_ "It's..."

"...Faster than a speeding airship. More powerful than a turbine. Able to leap city blocks in a single bound. It's _Danger Woman!_"

"Yay!" Molly shouted. With an excited bounce that caused her red blanket 'cape' to flap, she settled herself on the couch, rescued her colander 'helmet' from sliding off her head, and picked up Lucy, her favorite doll.

"In this week's episode," the announcer continued, "Danger Woman encounters the evil Dr. Nematoda whose dirty schemes bury the city in grime. Can our heroine worm her way out of this one? But first, these messages..."

"Molly, turn it down!" Rebecca Cunningham shouted from the next room. "Mommy can't hear herself think."

"Aw..." Molly grumbled, but complied. Since a commercial was still playing, she said to Lucy, "I'm counting on you to tell me when _Danger Woman_ comes back on, trusty sidekick." She saluted her doll, hopped off the couch, and skipped into the den where her mother was sitting at her desk. "_Now_ can you hear yourself think?" she asked with childish candor.

"Yes, Pumpkin." Rebecca's smile dissolved into a sigh as she swivelled in her chair, turning her attention back to the bank statement in her hand. "Almost $20,000 saved, and if we sell the house..."

Tears threatened to veil her large brown eyes at the thought of parting with the home she had come to as a bride. For a while, her gaze lingered on a framed photograph of her deceased husband that was sitting on the corner of her desk. Then, she swivelled in her chair to look around the comfortable den. Opposite her was her husband's desk, which was identical to hers. There once was a time when his cluttered desktop had driven her to distraction, but now it was empty, devoid of even a single piece of paper. One by one, she looked at all of the pictures that she and her husband had hung together, at their framed MBA diplomas, at all of the mementos that they had accrued over the years. Even the smallest thing held a special memory. Finally, she turned back to her desk and looked past the lacy curtains to the trailing trumpet vine clinging to the trellis beside the window. The hummingbirds that were sipping from the delicate pink flowers were so close that if she opened the window, she could have touched them. Beyond that was the radiant sunset flooding the world in its yellow and orange beauty.

"Is everything okay, Mom?" Molly whispered, perceptive beyond her tender age.

"Yes, honey," the petite brown bearess said, rousing herself from her bittersweet reverie. She scooped up her daughter, gave her a warm hug, and set her on her lap. "Where was I? Oh, yes. If we sell the house, we'll have..." she punched the keys on the adding machine, "over $50,000."

"Fifty thousand dollars?" Molly cried, twisting around to look up at her mother's face. "We could buy lots of Frosty Pep with that."

"Or a business, which is what we're going to do. Won't that be fun, having our own business?"

"What kind of business?"

"I'm not sure yet." Rebecca's eyes fell on the neat mountain of books, maps, and magazines on her desk. On the topmost magazine, a tiger's visage - handsome, strong, with a hint of arrogant complacency - was framed with the caption: _Shere Khan Named Fortune 5000's Wealthiest Man for the Ninth Consecutive Year._ She had looked through them countless times, but nothing had appealed to her. The ideas in them all seemed so mundane. She wanted to have a business that was new, exciting, and would make a big profit in a small amount of time.

"I know!" Molly exclaimed. "How about an ice cream stand?"

Rebecca chuckled. "I was thinking of something a little bigger than an ice cream stand." She returned to examining the bank statements.

"Okay. Then how about an ice cream _factory?_"

"No, and you're not getting any more ice cream today, young lady."

Molly was disappointed, but she knew not to press her luck when her mother spoke in that stern tone. She crawled on top of the desk and started to rifle through the books and magazines haphazardly. Suddenly, she said, "Can we buy an airplane?"

"An _airplane?_" Rebecca exclaimed, her hand suspended in mid-air over the adding machine.

"Yeah! It'd be fun to have an airplane and fly wherever we wanted to," Molly said, holding up a _Fortune__ 5000_ with a sleek silver airplane streaking across the front.

"Speaking of going places, you need to get your bath and get ready for bed, young lady."

"Aw, Mom, but _Danger Woman's_ still on."

"Okay. After _Danger Woman_," she said, kissing her daughter on the cheek.

After Molly had scrambled down from the desk and had skipped into the living room, Rebecca picked up the magazine that the little girl had dropped on the floor. The caption on the front read: _Air Cargo - Fab or Fad?_ She had never considered the air cargo business before...

_**Meanwhile..  
Baloo's Air Service  
Cape Suzette**_

Fifty miles southwest of Riversidle, on the outskirts of the coastal city of Cape Suzette, a houseboat constructed of mismatched airplane parts was moored to the dock near a rundown lighthouse-like structure that served as both the office and living quarters of the proprietor of Baloo's Air Service.

Inside the small houseboat, a wiry lion wearing grease-spattered overalls and an orange visor was fiddling with a radio that had seen better days. The tip of his tongue protruded from his mouth in concentration as he turned the radio's knobs. However, he couldn't get it to make a sound.

"What's wrong with you, Gladys?" the lion wondered, wiggling a wire gently. "Cat got your transistor?"

After checking every wire and connection, the mechanic got the biggest hammer out of his toolbox. He considered the radio for a while, then gave it a good whack on the top of its worn wooden cabinet. With a snap, crackle and loud pop, an announcer said, "...top of the 8th in the Series. Sox still leading the Pirates 4-1..."

"Wildcat! Hey, Wildcat, where are ya?"

The lion mechanic put his ear to the radio's speaker. "I didn't know Baloo was on the radio. You never tell me anything, Gladys."

A big grey bear in a faded yellow button-down shirt and red pilot's cap bellowed, "_Wildcat!_" as he poked his head in the doorway. Seeing the very person he was searching for, he lowered his voice. "Oh, there ya are."

"How'd you get out of the radio and all the way across the room without me seeing you, Baloo?" the mechanic wondered.

"Huh?" Baloo scratched his head. "Aw, never mind." Deciphering Wildcat's convoluted thought processes would take too much time and energy. "I'm headin' to Louie's to grab some grub, an' wanted to know if..." Hearing someone else speaking besides him, he turned towards the radio. "Whatcha listenin' to?"

"The Series. The Sox are beating the pants off of the Pirates. At least that's what Gladys tells..."

Baloo interrupted impatiently. "So, are you gonna come with me or not?"

"Nah, I think I'll stay here, listen to the game, and make jellybean omelets. They're my _favorite_ brain food."

"Then you'd better eat lots of 'em. You need all the help you can get," Baloo said derisively.

"Oh, hey, Baloo, I just remembered. I, like, don't have any jellybeans or eggs, 'cause I, like, don't have any money."

"When's the last time I paid ya?" the pilot asked, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully.

"Um...four weeks ago or last month. I can't remember which."

Baloo tossed Wildcat a couple of dollars and some coins. "There ya go, pal. That's all I got on me. I'll give ya some more when I fly my next job."

"When will that be?"

"I dunno," Baloo said with an unconcerned shrug as he turned to head to his seaplane, which was moored at the far end of the dock, beside the arching sign that said 'Baloo's Air Service' in faded lettering. "Whenever Louie starts makin' me pay dough every time I go."

"Hey, Baloo!" Wildcat said, rushing to the door. "Before I almost forget again, the man from the bank called. Said he wanted to talk to you about something real important."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Bankers always got somethin' they think is real important to jaw about, but the Big Guy is tellin' me that right now findin' some food is more important." The big bear patted his large stomach.

"All right, Baloo," Wildcat said quietly with a shrug of his thin shoulders. Who was he to argue with his boss? After all, the _Sea Duck_ wasn't his plane. He just fixed it when it was 'sick'. The mechanic stood in the doorway, watching the overweight pilot hurry down the dock and climb into the seaplane. As he listened to the twin Superflight 100 engines start up, a smile of satisfaction crossed his lean leonine features. "Fit as a banjo." After the _Sea Duck _had vanished between the cliff opening, he went back into his houseboat, asking, "What did I miss, Gladys?"

_**Meanwhile...  
Pirate Island**_

One hundred sixty degrees southeast of Cape Suzette, a mist-enshrouded volcanic archipelago arose from the placid Pacific Ocean. The volcanoes' harsh, craggy dull brown were a severe contrast to the sparkling blue ocean surrounding it, but the ugliness didn't matter to the fierce band of air pirates who had made this desolate spot their hideout.

Inside the largest volcano, there was a large harbor concealed from prying eyes by two massive stone doors. There, the pirates' behemoth mothership, the _Iron Vulture_, was moored. In the gloom and shadow of the cave, it appeared to be a sleeping purple and black bird with its yellow beak floating on the dark water. However, the inside of this large ship of the air was teeming with activity.

At that moment, the pirates were gathered around the long tables in the _Iron Vulture's_ dining room, eating dinner and listening to the Series on a stolen radio.

Kit Cloudkicker, the smallest and youngest pirate, was crammed on a bench between Dumptruck and Gibber. The eleven-year-old bear cub was hunched over his plate in order to protect his food from the others. His ears strained to listen to the game amid the chomping, slurping, gulping, and smacking of the uncouth pirates.

The radio announcer was saying, "...Sox ahead 4-1. Lou Growling of the Pirates up to bat..."

Dumptruck, a grey canine named so due to his massive size, ripped a chunk out of his roll. "Are der Pirates losing?"

From across the table, Hal, a rotund orange feline, replied, "Yeah, but they're _pirates_. They'll do something sneaky and get ahead."

A lanky ferret with long, limp moustaches called Mad Dog stealthily purloined a loin from Hal's plate before remarking, "Like steal some bases. Pirates are good at stealing."

The pirates all vociferously voiced their agreement, except Dumptruck, who was busy eyeing Kit's chicken leg.

"Don't even think about it," Kit growled as his hand closed over it. He had had to fight tooth and nail to get that chicken leg.

Sneering, Dumptruck drew a pistol from his coat and pointed it at Kit.

"Okay, okay, take it," the boy snapped, flinging it on the other pirate's plate.

Dumptruck popped it - bone and all - into his mouth.

Under his breath, Kit muttered, "I hope you choke on it."

Dumptruck spit the chicken bone onto his plate. In a thick Swedish accent, he asked suspiciously, "Did you say someting, little meatball?"

Despite the fact that Dumptruck could have killed Kit with one blow of his meaty fist, the boy stood up on the bench, looked him unflinchingly in the eye, and defiantly retorted, "Yeah, I said..."

Just then, their leader and captain, Don Karnage, strutted into the room and turned off the radio.

"Aw, Captain, we were listening to the Pirates," Mad Dog whined.

"From now on, you will listen to _this_ pirate!" the ruggedly handsome brown wolf said as he made his way to the head of the table. "I, Don Karnage, pirate extraordinaire, have come up with another stupendous plan to plunder Cape Suzette."

"_Another_ one?" Mad Dog whined.

Dumptruck stopped picking his teeth with his fingernail to ask, "Will dis one vork, Captain?"

Mad Dog added, "Yeah, I'm getting tired of getting shot at by those cliff guns."

"It came from my wonderfully brilliant mind, so of course it will work!" Karnage shouted. He repeatedly thumped the table with his fist for emphasis, causing the dishes and cutlery to dance.

His curiosity piqued, Kit peered around his comrades and asked, "Well, what is it, Captain?"

Karnage's face lit up. "I am so glad you have asked that, my boy." His voice took on a mysterious tone as he described his plan. "Under the coverlet of darkness, we will fly towards Cape Suzette without any lights on. The gunners will not shoot what they cannot see. It is brilliant, yes-no?"

On both sides of the table, the skeptical pirates nodded and murmured their reluctant approval. In the back of their minds lurked the many previous failed attempts to plunder Cape Suzette.

Kit thought, _It'll never work. The gunners will hear the _Vulture_ for sure._

Don Karnage, who was not satisfied with his loyal lackeys' less-than-enthusiastic response, menacingly drew his sword from its sheath. "Well...?"

Intimidated by their commander's fierce expression and the fact that he was a master of torture, the pirates wildly applauded, cheered, and stomped their feet. Even Kit whistled half-heartedly.

Karnage beamed. "Thank you, thank you. No, stop it, you are too kind."

Immediately, there was silence. The dim-witted pirates were merely following orders to 'stop it'.

With a sigh of exasperation, Karnage said, "You didn't have to stop so soon."

The cheering recommenced, louder this time.

"Ah...that is more like it," the pirate captain said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

_**That Night  
Iron Vulture**_

The night was as black as coal as the hulking _Iron Vulture_ flew towards Cape Suzette like a shark stealthily gliding towards its prey. It seemed that even Mother Nature was cooperating with Don Karnage in his plan to sneak by the cliff gunners unnoticed, for the cloud cover was heavy, blocking even the slightest trace of the moon or stars.

The pirates scurried around the huge hangar as they prepared to attack. Don Karnage paced the upper deck above them, impatiently watching the reddish glow in the sky over the city grow steadily closer. Also on the upper deck was first mate Gibber.

Mad Dog snapped the barrel of his pistol shut. "Remember when the captain had us paint the ship blue so we would be invisible?"

"But then it rained," Hal reminded them as he handed out gunny sacks, "and all of the paint washed off and the guns shot at us."

With a coil of rope slung over one muscular shoulder and a rifle slung over the other, Dumptruck remarked, "And den he dressed da ship up like a boat and tried to sail it between the cliffs."

"Oh, yeah," Mad Dog said. He slipped his pistol and a handful of extra bullets into his pockets. "But we hit a reef and the disguise fell off."

"And the guns shot at us," Hal added.

"Shut up with the tripping down memory lane, you flea brains!" Karnage shouted, leaning over the bannister, causing all of the pirates to stop in their tracks. "This time there is no paint, and there is no rain to wash the paint away."

"Und ve don't have to vear dose skimpy bathing suits," Dumptruck said in a not-so-quiet aside to Mad Dog.

Mad Dog winced. "That thing chafed."

"That plan would have been very successful if it had succeeded." Breathing heavily with rage, the Captain clenched his hands around the railing and glared down at his minions.

Kit, who had climbed the ladder to the upper deck in order to get a better look at where they were going, ventured quietly, "Uh, Captain, why don't we try to plunder a different city? One that doesn't have cliff guns?"

Karnage whirled around, ready to vent his anger on the handiest target. "Because Cape Suzette is the most spectaculous city around here. The trading hubcap of Usland. It is the center of everything there is to be in the center of. When we plunder Cape Suzette, we will have hit the jack-in-the-pot, the bulls in the eye. And it is the closest, you _estupide_, little, no-nothing boy!"

"Yeah, but it seems that..."

"Are you the captain?" the wolf asked, giving the boy a rough poke in the chest with his forefinger.

"No, but...!" To Kit, it seemed pointless to continue their futile quest to try to plunder a city as well-fortified as Cape Suzette. It was as stupid as repeatedly knocking your head against a wall.

"_Who_ is the captain?" As he waited for the obvious answer, Karnage polished his fingernails against his immaculate jacket.

Kit sighed in resignation. It was frustrating to be right, yet know that he couldn't win. "You are."

"Of course I am!" Karnage drew his sword and swung it through the air to emphasize each 'I'. Kit had to duck in order to keep his head intact. "_I_ am the captain. _I_ make the decisions. And right now, _I_ am deciding that we need to turn off all the lights."

All over the _Iron Vulture_ switches were flipped, plunging them into total darkness, save for one small lightbulb at the far end of the hangar.

"If anyone so much as utters one pipping-squeak, he will suffer the wrath of the dreadful pirate, Don Karnage!" At the top of his lungs, he commanded, "Turn off that light!"

"Yes, sir, Captain," Hacksaw said, flipping a switch.

_Ka-boom!_ went a cannon as it exploded from the _Iron Vulture's_ prow and flew towards the cliffs.

"Oopsy!" Hacksaw whimpered. "Wrong switch."

Suddenly, there was a multitude of ear-splitting explosions all around them. The Cape Suzette cannoneers were returning fire with a vengeance, trying to blast the pirates out of the sky or at least drive them away from the city. The behemoth airship rocked from side to side as firework-like bombs pierced its skin and knocked out its topside propellers. Chaos ensued as the pirates hurried to extinguish fires and repair electrical damage.

"HACKSAW!" Karnage roared.

"B-but, Captain, I-I thought it was the light switch. Honest."

"I will deal with you later," Karnage said between clenched teeth. "But for now..._retreat!_"

As the wounded airship turned around, the pirate captain took one last look at Cape Suzette. "I _will_ get in somehow if it is the last thing I do," he muttered determinedly under his breath.

_**Khan Towers  
Downtown Cape Suzette  
The Next Day**_

Sunlight poured through powderpuff-like clouds onto the city of Cape Suzette, warming the harbor, dancing on rooftops, and glinting off windows. The largest window in the city was located at the top of ninety-story Khan Towers; it allowed the wealthiest man in the world, Shere Khan, a magnificent view of both the city and the cliffs protecting it.

At that moment, however, Khan was not paying the slightest attention to the beautiful weather outside. Instead, the intimidating tiger, impeccably clad in an expensive suit, sat behind his claw-marked mahogany desk, his back to the window, perusing the latest _Fortune 5000 _magazine.

"Khan Industries worth 3.3 billion dollars," he read. "Miniversal Corporation worth a mere 2.9 billion dollars. Better luck next year, Mr. Sultan."

A trace of a smug smile was on his normally impassive face. He had been number one ever since Fortune 5000 Magazine had started their annual 'wealthiest man in the world' feature.

The man who prided himself on being completely emotionless gloated to himself as he read the article, which confirmed what he already knew: whomever had the most money had the most power. Power to make more money. More importantly, power to spread his business to every corner of the globe from Aridia to Zilbaldo, even communist Thembria. Already, Khan Industries surpassed its competitors in a vast variety of commodities from spices to military equipment to energy resources. Little by little, Khan Industries was buying up the world and gaining control over the global market. That was this ruthless businessman's one goal in life. After all, he lived by the golden rule: 'He who has the gold, makes the rules'.

_Buzz!_ went the interoffice intercom.

At any other time, this unscheduled interruption would have irritated him, but because he was in a good mood, he wasn't even mildly annoyed. He pressed the 'transmit' button. "Yes, Mrs. Snarly?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but Dr. Debolt insists upon seeing you despite the fact that his appointment isn't until 2:30 next Thursday."

"It's all right, Mrs. Snarly. Show him in." He closed the magazine, folded his hands over it, and calmly turned his attention towards the elevator at the far end of the room.

A moment later, a small apricot-colored rabbit with a shock of grey hair bounced out of the elevator into the office, his lab coat flapping. In his hands was a small blue treasure chest, edged with gold plate and decorated with yellow suns. In a shrill, excited voice, the scientist squeaked, "Success, Mr. Khan! Success! We were able to create the sub-electron amplifier. According to my calculations, I knew it would work in theory, but putting it into effect was a different..."

Shere Khan cut short his long-winded rambling by asking pointedly, "How many were you able to produce?"

"Only one, sir. Here it is." He proudly set the treasure chest on the desk and opened the lid. Lying on a bed of black velvet was something that resembled a large ruby.

Khan reached for it, but before he could touch it, Dr. Debolt said, "I wouldn't touch it barehanded if I were you. You might get a nasty shock. Here. Wear this." The scientist dug a black rubber glove out of his lab coat pocket and handed it to his employer.

The businessman donned the glove and carefully picked up the stone. As he turned it in his hand, sunlight gleamed off its many facets. "I thought you said you'd be able to produce an unlimited amount."

Shrinking under the businessman's piercing gaze, Dr. Debolt stammered, "Yes, but that was before we..."

"How much energy will this one produce?"

"Enough to run all of your businesses," Dr. Debolt said, nervously pushing his glasses up on his nose, "I think..."

"You _think?_" Khan quirked an eyebrow. If there was one thing he didn't like, it was unanswered questions. "I want to_ know_." He gently returned the stone to the box and removed the glove. He pushed both towards the scientist.

"We will after we run more tests and..."

"Fine," Khan said, pulling a sheet of his personal stationary from his desk drawer. He scribbled a memo and signed his name with a flourish. "Get one of my pilots to transport it to my power plant in the NoSmokey Mountains."

"But if it needs more adjustments, it'll have to be transported back here to the lab."

"Do whatever is necessary. I want a report no later than Friday of next week," Khan commanded, handing the note over the desk to the scientist.

"Yes, sir." Dr. Debolt shoved the note and glove into his lab coat pocket, picked up the box, and bounced out of the room as fast as he had bounced into it.

When the elevator had swallowed up the scientist, Shere Khan smiled to himself. Resting his elbows on his desk, he pressed his fingertips together. The sub-electron amplifier, which his scientists had been working on for over a year, was coming along ahead of schedule. It was, perhaps, the most important invention of the century. Better still, it was _his_ company's invention. An invention that would save him money and make him money in the process. He looked down at the magazine.

"Wealthiest man in the world ten years in a row..."

End of part 1


	2. Chapter 2

**Hopes and Schemes  
part 2**

_**A Week Later  
Iron Vulture**_

A very determined Kit stood on the deserted upper deck, grappling gun in hand. Opposite him loomed one row of propellers that kept the behemoth airship aloft. They hummed in pitch-perfect unison, whipping the wind into a frenzy and making the deck vibrate. Shaking his hair out of his eyes, the boy balanced the grappling gun on his shoulder and, squinting into the sun, aimed it towards the top of the nearest propeller shaft directly under the blur that was the propellers.

"Careful..." he murmured to himself as his finger hovered over the trigger. "Too high and you're propeller chow."

_Clang!_ went the claws of the grappling gun as it latched onto the propeller shaft.

"Yeah!" Kit pushed the button that retracted the grappling gun's rope, thus stretching it tauter. With one hand tightly clutching the grappling gun, he reached under his sweater and produced his airfoil, which he unfurled with one flick of his finger.

When he slid his airfoil beneath his feet, a gust of wind from the propellers propelled him into the air, almost taking his breath away. Simultaneously, he pushed the button that fully extended the grappling gun's rope.

"Wa-HOO!" Kit shouted, exulted. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he surfed on the air currents created by the propellers. Ten thousand feet below, between the rapidly moving puffy white clouds, he could see the white-capped ocean. He knew that this was dangerous, but the danger only added to the excitement.

For a few moments, he forgot about what he was supposed to be doing: watching for the arrival of captured cargo planes and the return of Don Karnage and his band of airborne marauders so that he could alert the others. What did he care about cargo planes or loot or helping Karnage restore his faith in his pirating abilities after their most recent failed attempt to plunder Cape Suzette? He was lost in the joy, in the freedom, of flying.

He was called back to reality by a distant burst of gunfire. Glancing to his left, he saw a maroon and taupe cargo plane break through the clouds in the distance. It was so state-of-the-art that even Kit, who made it a point to know everything about aircraft, didn't know the make and model. Buzzing and circling around the cargo plane like a bunch of angry bees was a fleet of the pirates' single-man, single-engine, bi-wing CT-37s.

As Kit watched the larger plane dodging, weaving and diving in a futile attempt to escape the CT-37s that were peppering it with bullets, he felt a pang of pity for the cargo plane's pilot. The pirates may not have known their elbows from an aileron, but they _did_ know how to capture a cargo plane. In fact, during the eleven months that Kit had spent with the pirates, he could count the planes that had slipped from their grasp on one finger. But he wasn't surprised. The CT-37s were smaller, faster, and therefore, easier to maneuver than the bulkier cargo planes. They were also armed with rapid-fire machine guns.

Kit was so engrossed in the dogfight that he was completely caught off-guard when the grappling gun's rope was sheared in two by the propeller.

"_Whooooooa!_" he cried as he lost his balance and slipped off his airfoil. Plummeting through the air, he caught his board before it could follow the grappling gun into the deep blue sea. He started to climb back on his board, but before he could, there was a _ping_ as the airfoil struck one of the rapidly spinning propellers and was ripped from Kit's hands.

The airfoil clattered to the deck at the same time that Kit landed with a _thump_ and an "Oof!" on the upper beak. Driven by momentum, the boy proceeded to roll head over heels down the beak.

Just as he fell over the edge, he snagged the tip with his fingers. Dangling on the edge of the beak, he cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. A drop of cold sweat ran off his nose and descended to the ocean ten thousand feet below.

"Jeepers," he gulped. "What a time to be without my airfoil."

The gunfire, which was getting louder, and the roar of the planes' engines, which were growing closer, barely registered in the back of Kit's mind. He grunted with exertion as he struggled to pull himself onto the smooth metal. His shoulders felt as if they were being torn out of their sockets, yet his desperately groping fingers couldn't find a bolt, a nut, _anything_ to grab onto.

He was slipping...

Slipping...

"Maybe..._ugh_...this wasn't such a..._ugh_...good idea after _aaaaaaaall!_"

As he hurtled through the air, he squeezed his eyes shut in preparation for the fatal impact. He opened his eyes in surprise when he landed with a jarring _thud_, not in the ocean, but on something hard.

He had fallen onto the cargo plane's fuselage as it was herded through the _Iron Vulture's_ open beak. He braced himself as it skidded into the hangar and, brakes squealing, shuddered to a stop.

Head reeling, heart pounding, Kit said as loud as he could, "Cargo plane's here. Come and get it."

His announcement as well as the sound of the cargo plane's engines acted as a signal that drew the rest of the pirate crew from all corners of the _Vulture_ to share in the action.

A moment later, the CT-37s lowered into the hangar via hydraulic lifts. Karnage nimbly hopped out of his black and red plane and strutted over to his latest capture, proud as a peacock.

Kit slid off of the plane to join the pirates who were now surrounding the plane. As he did so, he couldn't help noticing that the gold SK insignia on the door was riddled with holes.

He also noticed the panther pilot anxiously peering out the port cockpit window at the pirates, who were heavily armed with crowbars, guns, and nasty dispositions.

"Ah-ha! The catch of the day," Karnage crowed. He grinned up at the cockpit, showing all of his pointed teeth. He loved to torture his prey as a cat does a mouse. Rapping on the cockpit door, he sang, "Knock, knock."

Petrified, the pilot rolled down the window. "W-who's th-there?"

"Don Karnage."

"Don K-Karnage who?"

"Do you mean to tell me you have not heard of the greatest plundering wonder of all time?" the pirate captain said in mock-indignation. "Open up the door and we will get antiquated."

The panther pilot reluctantly opened the door and threw up his hands in surrender.

Karnage paused a moment, as if waiting for something. Then, he looked back at his minions and sighed before barking, "Don't just stand there like the _estupide_ idiots you are! You know what to do! Ransack the sacks! Confiscate the crates! Plunder that plane!"

Yelling, the pirates rushed inside the plane through the open door, knocking the pilot down.

Karnage climbed into the plane and loomed over the pilot, sneering, as the pirates cracked open the crates in the cargo hold with crowbars.

"Captain, there's nothing here but some old books," Mad Dog whined.

"Yeah, der worthless," Dumptruck added.

Karnage stepped over the pilot and entered the cargo hold where the illiterate pirates were frowning at the titles on the books and magazines. The only pirate not disappointed was Kit, who was engrossed in the latest edition of _Flyboy Magazine_.

"Dis one doesn't even have pictures." Dumptruck disdainfully tossed the book aside.

"This one does." Mad Dog held up the most recent edition of _Fortune 5000_ magazine. "But I can't tell what it says."

Karnage snatched the magazine from Mad Dog. "Give me that, you very ugly pirate!" He read aloud: "'Shere Khan named _Fortune 5000's_ world's wealthiest man for the ninth consecutive year?' _I_ should be the richest man in the world! Me, _me!_" Furious, he ripped the magazine to shreds. He then whirled around to where the pilot was lying like a terrified slug on the cockpit floor and stuck the point of his sword in the pilot's neck. "You! Pilot! Who does this plane belong to?"

The pilot, his eyes affixed on the sword, stammered, "S-S-Shere K-Khan."

Karnage grinned with glee. "Hee-hee! This is some money that he'll never see. Take the books!"

"Und the magazines, too, Captain?"

"The magazines, the books, _everything!_ We will have a glorious bonfire."

Cheering, the pirates opened the back hatch and piled out of the plane with their booty.

Mad Dog staggered under the weight of one crate. "Now all we need to steal are some weenies."

"Und marshmallows," Dumptruck added, carrying six crates with ease.

Gibber muttered something into Hal's ear as he handed him a crate.

Hal replied, "Yeah, we should make s'mores."

The panther pilot was shocked when one of the pirates - a boy clutching a magazine - surreptitiously slipped a quarter into his hand.

After the last pirate had left the plane, Karnage, his dashing form framed by the cargo hold doorway, ordered the pilot, "Go back and tell your wealthiest man in the world boss that I, Don Karnage, will make him the poorest man by stealing all his cargo from him. Now make like the birdy and flee!" With a dramatic flourish of his sword, he hopped out of the plane.

The cargo plane, its back hatch still open, made a hasty U-turn and an even hastier exit from the _Iron Vulture_.

_**Iron Vulture  
That Night**_

A dim light shone from under Kit's pillow where he was reading his new magazine by flashlight. Turning a page, the boy shivered. The chilly dampness of an unusually cold November night had penetrated and permeated the metal frame of the huge flying fortress, turning it into a gigantic refrigerator. To top it all off, his blanket had been stolen by his comrades.

Even if he hadn't been enthralled in his magazine, he still couldn't have slept. The snoring of his three roommates - Mad Dog, Dumptruck, and Hacksaw - was enough to wake Rip Van Winkle. The nasal wheezing of Mad Dog. The ear-piercing whistling of Hacksaw. The rumbling, bed-shaking snores of Dumptruck. Individually, they were unbearable. Together, they were maddening.

"Howard Huge's latest model, the Cabin-Cruiser 107 features a new, creative design..."

_Wheeze._

_Whistle._

_SNOOOOOORE._

Kit pulled his pillow closer around his ears. "The Cabin-Cruiser 107 features a new, creative design in that..."

_Wheeze._

_Whistle._

_SNOOOOOORE._

With a sigh of exasperation, Kit popped open the vent cover above his bed. He shoved his flashlight and magazine between his pillow and pillow slip, tossed his pillow into the vent, and crawled in after it.

Blindly, he crawled along the dark shaft, pulling his pillow behind him and silently counting the vent branches.

_One left. One right. Two left. Three left. Two right..._

When he felt the air getting warmer, he knew that he was getting closer to the furnace room.

Kit had been with the air pirates for eleven months and yet he truly didn't feel like he belonged with them. Sure, he put on a tough facade whenever he was around them to avoid being stomped on or shot at, but there wasn't one of them with whom he could have an intelligent conversation. Intelligence seemed to bypass the air pirates with the exception of the captain.

Don Karnage. At one time, Kit thought that he had found a father figure in him, someone who would care about him. He quickly discovered that that wasn't true. Karnage blew hot and cold. His moods shifted faster than the wind. One minute, Kit was his prized protege, the next, he could find himself locked in the brig with moldy bread and rats for company. All Karnage truly cared about was himself. His one goal in life was to go down in history as the pirate who had robbed an entire city, then the world. His second goal was to be considered the most handsome pirate in history.

Kit, having been a street urchin before hooking up with the pirates, was used to self-centered grown-ups, but what he couldn't stomach was the way Karnage and the other pirates treated pilots whose planes they hijacked. They rarely let anybody go, because freed captives could inform authorities about Pirate Island's location, details about the _Iron Vulture_, and other piratical secrets. Kind-hearted Kit paused in crawling, shut his eyes, and clamped his hands over his ears in an attempt to block out those horrific images and sounds, seared into his memory. He shook his head, and with a look of determination that made his eyes appear unnaturally old in his young face, started to move through the duct system.

Every moment he spent with the pirates was like walking a very precarious tightrope. He always had to be vigilant, always had to pretend to be tough, even when his insides quaked with fear. Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he slipped off the tightrope. Would he end up like all of those pilots - tortured until he begged for death?

But he didn't allow himself to think about that. Any regrets that he had about accepting Karnage's offer to join the pirates wouldn't help his current situation. He would just have to do what he'd been doing all of his life: keep moving forward and see where fate led him.

Finally, he turned into a little alcove. This was his special hiding place, his refuge whenever Karnage was especially angry at him or when he wanted to escape the noise and chaos of the air pirates. Where he could let down his guard for a while and just be Kit.

Here, he had stored his boyish treasures: extra batteries for his flashlight, candy bars and apples swiped from the kitchen, and a few much-thumbed_ Flyboy Magazines_. He reached into his pillow slip for his magazine and his flashlight. The flashlight emitted a soft, almost home-like glow as he propped his pillow against the vent wall and leaned against it. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but at least it was warm and quiet.

He picked up his new magazine and turned to the article that he had been reading: a feature about Howard Huge's new airplane, the Cabin-Cruiser 107.

Kit silently read: 'When asked about why the emergency exit was under a passenger seat, Howard Huge replied, "Because it's too hard climbing through the luggage compartment." Following the harsh criticism that the Cabin-Cruiser 107 received from the aviation community, the eccentric Howard Huge had been dismissed from his position as designer.'

"I'm not surprised. What a nut," Kit murmured, turning the page.

The next article's headline read: "Pilot Oscar Wiggerstomper feared lost in the Bearmuda Trapezoid."

"Who's Oscar Wiggerstomper?" Kit wondered to himself as he flipped to the next page, which had an advertisement for a radio.

He would have liked a radio, but what really caught his eye was the ad itself - a typical happy family spending a typical evening gathered around the radio. For a moment, he allowed himself to pretend that he was the boy fiddling with the radio's knobs while Father smoked his pipe, Mother knitted, and his little sister played with the dog.

Then, Kit chided himself. He knew that he would never have a family. He had given up on that dream long ago. He, an orphan ever since he could remember, was a loner and would always be a loner, but he didn't mind it so much. Frankly, he liked being self-reliant and able to do pretty much whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

But he what he wouldn't give for just one friend.

Kit flipped to the back of the magazine to the advertising section. His eyes longingly lingered on the planes for sale. Which one would he choose if he had his choice? And how would he customize it so it would be the fastest, best plane in the world?

"I'll get my own plane someday and fly out of here, away from these stupid pirates."

But how?

Karnage was greedy when it came to parceling out the loot. Everyone did the dirty work and the captain got the loot.

He had thought about stealing from Karnage, but that would be dangerous, even deadly.

"_Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrggggghhhhh!_"

An angry scream reverberated through the _Iron Vulture_, ripping through Kit's thoughts and making him jump guiltily. Surely, Karnage didn't know that he was thinking about stealing from him...or did he?

Even if he hadn't have spent almost a year with the air pirates, he would have known that that scream meant nothing good. He decided to find out what the yelling was about, so he turned off the flashlight and stealthily crawled through the vents towards Don Karnage's bedroom.

A shaft of light coming from a room below told him that he was getting close. He peered down into the room. Karnage was pacing furiously around Gibber.

"Month after week I, Don Karnage, am forced to settle for paltry heists and dinky trinkets." The wolf tossed a gold-plated cup aside. He then drew his sword and jabbed an imaginary foe, all the watching himself in the mirror. "Surely a pirate of my statue is destined to do something great, something magnificent, something big!"

Gibber muttered something in the captain's ear.

"Perhaps...but where would I get a bathtub big enough to hold it?" He sheathed his sword. "The feared pirate Don Karnage's density lies not in the plundering of mere cargo planes, but in the starry skies." He pointed to a picture of a city cut out of a magazine that was taped to the wall. "_That_ is what is worthy of my greatness. To go down in history as the pirate who plundered a city, but not just any city. Cape Suzette."

Again, Gibber whispered something in Karnage's ear.

"Yes, yes, yes," Karnage said impatiently. "Those nasty cliff guns are the fly in my eye. The ointment in my soup." He jumped up and down in rage. "Every time, they shatter my plans to figurines!"

Gibber muttered a lengthy suggestion.

"Sneakity-sneak up on Cape Suzette from the backside, away from the gunners? Hmm..." Karnage pondered that idea for a minute, then dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "If we did that, I could not make my grand entrance. No, we must find a permanent-press way to get rid of the guns, for once and for all, but all I have is an _estupide_ pirate crew and these _estupide_ books." He picked up one of the books that he had saved from that evening's bonfire and was about to throw it across the room when he noticed its title. Instead of tossing it, he opened it.

Gibber, peering over Karnage's shoulder, murmured a few words.

Giving his first mate a nasty look, Karnage slammed the book shut. "When I know what I'm doing, I'll know what to do. Now, go. Go, go, go!" He roughly shoved Gibber out of the room and banged the door shut.

Once alone, or so he thought, Karnage stretched out on his bed, opened the book, and flipped through it. Kit strained to see what the captain was looking at, but it was futile from his precarious perch.

"No," Karnage said, flipping a page.

The pirate captain continued to thumb through the book, saying an increasingly drowsy 'no' with each page. Then, he started to yawn and his eyes drooped. A few moments later, he fell asleep with the open book tented on his chest.

Burning with curiosity, Kit quietly unlatched the grate and let it swing downward into the room. The boy winced and quickly retreated into the all concealing shadows when the grate's hinges squeaked. After what seemed like an eternity, he cautiously peeked down into the room.

To his relief, Karnage was still asleep in the bed directly below him.

He fished a small ball of twine out of his pocket and tied a large loop at one end. He then proceeded to lower it slowly down into the room. The loop fluttered slightly, blown about by Karnage's deep, even breathing.

_Careful..._ Kit thought as he lassoed the book.

He gasped when Karnage rolled over, causing the book to slide over the side of the bed.

Giving the twine a quick jerk, Kit just prevented the book from hitting the floor. He quickly pulled it up to the vent and read the title: _Do It Yourself Electronics_.

_Make your own toaster...radio...pizza oven...lamp? _Kit read as he flipped through the technical diagrams and complicated equations. _This looks like something from _Better Homes and Cockpits_. There's nothing here that he could use to invade Cape Suzette, unless he's planning to bomb the cliff gunners with appliances._

Kit jumped, startled, when Karnage rolled onto his back and mewed, "I'm cold, Mama."

_Uh-oh! He's waking up! _Looking around frantically, Kit spied a piece of wire dangling from the vent ceiling. Fashioning the wire into a fishhook, he attached it to the twine and lowered it once more into the room where he hooked the blanket that was folded at the foot of the bed and tugged it up over Karnage.

"_Gracias_, Mama," Karnage smiled.

"Don't mention it," Kit murmured wryly as he swiftly retracted the twine, removed the fishhook, and slipped the book into the loop.

When the book was halfway down into the room, it slipped out of the loop and smacked Karnage right in the face.

Karnage, instantly awake, sat up in bed. "Who? What? Where? And sometimes why?"

Luckily for Kit, he didn't notice the piece of twine that was snaking its way back through the open grate. After blearily gazing around the room, the captain lay back down and closed his eyes.

Kit, upon hearing Karnage's even breathing, closed the grate and started to make his way back to his alcove and his new _Flyboy Magazine_, thinking, _Captain or no, I prefer my bedtime reading material. _

End of part 2


	3. Chapter 3

**Hopes and Schemes  
part 3**

_TaleSpin_ and its characters are property of Buena Vista / Disney Co. and are used without permission. All other characters are mine and cannot be used without permission.

_**The Next Afternoon  
Two Miles West of Cape Suzette**_

Just out of range of the cliff guns, the air pirates' CT-37s circled in the clear blue sky like a flock of vultures. Their collective attention was on the cliff opening and, more specifically, the planes coming and going from said cliff opening.

When the _Sea Duck_ sped by below them, Dumptruck said into his C.B.'s microphone, "How about dat big, juicy yellow cargo plane, Captain? I bet it has a lot of loot."

"How many times do I have to remind you pathetic pirates?" Don Karnage impatiently said into his own mike. "We are _only_ hijacking Shere Khan's planes."

"Why are we getting revenge on Shere Khan?" Mad Dog whined.

"This is not about revenge! This is about getting even."

Mad Dog accepted that explanation without a second thought. "Oh. That's different, then."

Karnage ordered, "Keep your eyeballs peeled, men. Maybe not this minute, maybe not the next, but sometime soon, one of Khan's planes will come along with our names on it."

Gibber whispered into his mike.

"Of course it won't have 'Gibber' painted on it, idiot! That was a mere figuring of my speech."

_**Meanwhile...  
The Sea Duck**_

Baloo was steering with his feet and wrestling with a chart. Obviously, the chart was winning, because it was clinging to his face like a leech. With a cry of frustration, the big bear ripped it from him. He glared at the chart, which had landed on the co-pilot's seat, then took a deep breath, and determinedly picked it up, stretching it taut between both hands at arm's length. "All right-y now. If Cape Suzette is here, then Crab Town must be..."

He squinted at the tiny words on the chart, superimposed across oceans of blue and lands of green. "It's..." he looked at one corner; "no..." he scrutinized the opposite corner; "no..." he studied the two remaining corners; "_no!_ Aw, doggone it! How am I supposed to deliver crabs to Crab Town if I can't _find_ Crab Town? Hey, stay cool, Baloo. No need to get crabby. Maybe ya can't find Crab Town on this chart, because it ain't on this chart." He crumpled it up and tossed it over his shoulder.

He then opened the glove compartment. An avalanche of charts, parking tickets, sunglasses, candy wrappers, and bottle caps spilled out.

"Swell."

The irritated bear set the autopilot - a crowbar slung across the control yoke - and bent down to pick the charts out of the clutter. "Where's a navigator when I need one?" he muttered to himself. He pulled a wad of old gum off of one of the charts and popped it into his mouth. "Every time I try to go somewheres, I get lost tryin' ta find it or I get lost when I get there, just like last month's crazy trip to Walla-Walla Bing Bang."

He rifled through the charts. "Crab Town...Crab Town...ah-ha!" Glancing at the compass on the control panel, he turned the plane towards the east.

_**A Half Hour Later  
Downtown Riversidle**_

Rebecca and Molly stepped out of the grocery store and headed towards their car, which was parked a block away. Humming to herself and to Lucy, whom she cradled, Molly skipped along the sidewalk, happy that she had persuaded her mother into buying not one, but two cartons of Frosty Pep ice cream. However, Rebecca wasn't as happy as her daughter, for she was wrestling with two heavy sacks containing a week's worth of groceries as well as problems about her as-of-yet nonexistent future business.

Hearing the sound of propellers, Molly stopped in her tracks and looked up to see a yellow seaplane soaring above them. "Lookee, Mom. A plane!" the little girl cried, pointing skywards. She watched it until it disappeared from sight.

Without looking up, Rebecca said absently, "I see it." She was more concerned about making it to the car without dropping the bags. "Open the door, honey."

Molly stood on tiptoe and tugged on the handle of the rear door, allowing it to swing open.

As Rebecca slid the sacks into the car's backseat, she murmured, "I just can't believe it."

"That a plane flew over? Hey, there it goes again!" the little girl exclaimed as the orange-trimmed yellow plane circled back.

Rebecca briefly glanced up at the plane, which was now making wide circles over the city as if the pilot were either lost or joyriding.

"Get in the car, Pumpkin." Rebecca shut the rear car door and got behind the wheel. More to herself than to her daughter, she said despairingly, "In the whole city of Riversidle, there isn't one, single failing business, and I called every bank and used every connection that I could think of."

Molly, who was pressing Lucy to the window so that the doll could watch the plane with her, suggested, "Well...what if you tried another city?"

Rebecca's eyes lit up. "Molly, you're a genius!"

"Nuh-huh, I'm a bear."

Rebecca chuckled as she started the car.

_**A Month Later  
Pirate Island**_

"Come on. Hurry it up, already!" Mad Dog whined.

"Go faster, you little creepy-crawly," Dumptruck cheered.

Smugly, Hal said, "Mine is gonna beat the socks off yours, Mad Dog."

Mad Dog retorted, "Is not."

"Is, too."

"Is not, not, not!"

"Is, too, too, too!"

Kit, surrounded by cheering men, was sitting on a rock in Pirate Island's main cavern. He stifled a yawn. The cockroach races never ceased to excite his fellow pirates, but to the eleven-year-old, they had long ago lost their luster.

When one of the cockroaches hopped across the line scratched in the dirt, Mad Dog crowed, "Ha! Mine won! Mine won!"

Hal growled, "It doesn't count. The fly fell off."

"You wanna make a big deal of it, big mouth?"

"Yeah, bean pole!"

"Who you callin' bean pole, fatty?" Mad Dog cried. He punched Hal as hard as he could in the stomach, but the husky feline didn't move an inch.

Hal laughed scornfully. "Is that the best you can do?" In retaliation, he gave Mad Dog a rough shove, causing him to backpedal until he slammed against the wall and slumped to the floor.

"Ow!" Mad Dog whined, dizzily getting up. He glared at Dumptruck. "Don't just stand there, dum-dum. Are you going to let him treat me like that?"

"Er...no, Mad Dog." Dumptruck bodily picked Hal up and sent him flying across the room.

Kit ducked, but the pirates standing behind him didn't. They crashed to the floor like bowling pins.

The boy knew that that was his cue to leave. The last time he'd been caught in a pirate brawl, he'd woken up two days later with a black eye and broken ribs. Of course, that time he had been caught unawares. This time he knew to heed the warning signs.

He dodged between kicking legs and ducked around flying fists until he reached the cavern's doorway. Glancing back at the thick cloud of dust that now enshrouded the melee, he could hear punches, cries of pain, and angry oaths. He knew that the fight was just a way for the dim-witted pirates to break up the monotony of the past few days.

Entertainment was scarce between raids and pillages. Besides eating, sleeping, and a few assigned chores, there just wasn't that much to do. Furthermore, they really didn't have anything to look forward to, because they never knew when the next heist would be. Karnage always kept his plans strictly hush-hush.

A very bored Kit wandered through the warm, dusty passageways, mechanically avoiding booby-traps and kicking at loose pebbles.

He paused outside Karnage's room. At that moment, he would have loved to have an intelligent conversation with someone. Someone with an I.Q. bigger than the cockroaches they raced.

Kit tentatively knocked on the door.

From inside the room, Karnage's voice came floating out. "If you brought a present, come in."

When Kit opened the door, a big smile crossed the captain's rugged wolfish features. "Ah, my puny protege. You are just in time to help me with a persistent problem that has been bothering me for a long time."

Kit was so flattered that he forgot that he was supposed to be a rough, tough burly pirate. He squeaked, "Me?"

"Do you see any other proteges here?" Karnage asked, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Nope," the boy replied, his habitual tough-guy attitude returning. He swaggered into the room. "I'm the one and only."

Kit was glad to be needed by someone. His eyes lit up when he noticed several charts spread out upon the table. It had been a long time since he had used the navigational skills that he had acquired during his hobo days. However, he tried not to sound too eager when he asked, "What's the problem?"

"Which of these is more worthy of my greatness?"

"Huh? Oh..." Disappointed, Kit focused his attention on the black and brown sheaths that Karnage was holding. Both were identical except for color. He hesitantly pointed to the black one.

"You know, that one is my especial favorite, too." He slapped Kit on the back so hard that the boy stumbled forward. Then he strapped the sheath around his waist, plunged his sword into it, and turned to the full-length mirror to admire himself. "For havingexcellemundo taste like me, you should be rewarded." He picked up a red handkerchief from the top of his dresser and knotted it around Kit's neck. "There. Ah-ha!" He led the boy to the mirror. "Did you ever see anything so handsome, meaning my wonderful self, that is?"

Kit silently shook his head and tried not to gasp aloud. The scarf was a little too tight.

After a few minutes of posturing, Karnage said, "Are you still there? Was there anything you wanted?"

"Naw...I just had a question."

"Speak up. I always listen sometimes."

"Do...do you ever get tired of..." He wanted to say 'being a pirate'. Instead, he said, "Being the handsomest pirate in the world?"

Karnage laughed. "Of course not! What a silly-willy thing to say. Now, go. Run away and find some other thing to do. I am most busy here. Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who is the handsomest pirate of them all?"

Kit slipped out, leaving Karnage posing in front of the mirror.

Once again, Kit wandered restlessly through the passageways that connected the caverns, wondering what to do next. He came at last to the interior cove where the _Iron Vulture_ was docked. He picked up a few stones and made them skip across the still, dark water. Between splashes, he could hear a faint pinging, as of a hammer. He surmised that Rachet was doing some repairs.

Kit dropped the rest of the pebbles and jogged towards the open beak. For a pirate, Ratchet was fairly easygoing and he had even let Kit help him with airplane repairs before.

"Ratchet?" Kit's voice echoed throughout the hangar.

No reply met his ears except the faint, far-away sound of hammering.

He was about to turn away when he noticed the CT-37s tantalizingly lined up against the walls of the hangar. After a quick glance around to make sure he truly was alone, he climbed into the cockpit of the plane nearest the door.

He had begged Karnage repeatedly to teach him to fly, but the captain's reply was always the same: "I'm not letting a juvenile delinkidy-wink fly."

But that didn't deter Kit. It had been his lifelong dream to be a pilot. Flying was constantly on his mind. He ate it, slept it, and thought about it every ten seconds, at least.

Kit's hands trembled with excitement as he gripped the control yoke and ran his eager eyes over the control panel.

He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he could pilot this plane. After all, he had read about it and had seen it done a million times. And if those stupid pirates could fly, so could he.

No one was around, therefore no one would know if he just started it up.

With a determined expression on his face, he pulled the pre-ignition catalyzer, pressed the 'start' button and...

_Vroom!_

The engine purred to life. The prop wash ruffled his hair as well as his new red bandana. He could feel the plane's vibration coursing through his body.

A big smile spread across his face. This was the most fun he had had in a long time.

Then the smile slid from his face when he remembered the pirates.

His eyes fixed on the open beak, Kit waited with baited breath. He was sure that someone would have heard the engine's roar echoing in the cavernous hangar. However, when no one appeared, he decided that it wouldn't hurt to just taxi around the hangar. He scooted to the edge of seat in order to reach the foot pedal. When he pressed the pedal down with the tip of his toes, the plane lurched forward.

"Whoa!" he cried, removing his foot from the pedal as quickly as if he had stepped on a nail.

Learning from his mistake, this time, he gently tapped the pedal.

"Ah-ha!" he shouted exultantly as the CT-37 glided forward slowly. Holding the control yoke with one hand, he reached over to the machine gun. "Enemy fighters at four o'clock. Fire! Fire!"

Caught up in the excitement of his imaginary game, Kit's hands accidentally gripped the trigger of the machine gun too tightly, causing a burst of rapid gunfire to pour from the gun and...

_KA-BOOM!_

When Kit dared to open his eyes, he saw a mass of flaming wreckage of what had once been three CT-37s.

"Oh..._no!_" he squeaked. He quickly turned off the engine and scrambled down from the cockpit just as he heard the sounds of running feet pounding towards the _Iron Vulture_.

"What is it?" Mad Dog whined from the edge of the open beak.

"It looks like der bonfire," Dumptruck said.

Coughing a little from the smoke, Hal added, "Aw, I forgot the marshmallows."

"Shut up, you idiots, and put that fire out before we all go boom-boom!"

The other pirates hurried off to find buckets.

Seeing Kit trying to sneak past him, Karnage shouted, "You! Boy!"

Knees trembling, Kit spun around. If he hadn't have already been scared, the look of concentrated fury on the captain's face would have made him scared. Despite his fear, he squared his shoulders, donned his habitual tough expression, and forced himself to walk calmly towards Karnage. "You called?"

"Did you create this messy messiness?"

Defiantly, Kit retorted, "So what if I did?"

Don Karnage backhanded Kit across the face. "Do not use that tone-age with me!" _Slap!_ "And always..." _Slap!_ "call me..." _Slap!_ "Captain!" _Slap!_

Kit's cheeks stung and his pride pricked with resentment. The other pirates' snickering only fueled his anger. Sullenly, he muttered, "Yes..._Captain_."

Karnage glared down at Kit. "This time you made the wrong mistake. We must find an appropriately appalling punishment for you."

_**Later...**_

Karnage ushered Kit, who was carrying a mop and a bucket of soapy water, into the _Iron Vulture's_ kitchen. "As punishment for your _estupide_ stupidness, I want you to pick up every scrap of garbage, then mop the entire _Iron Vulture_ from top to bottomouses. Make it span and spick, got it?"

Drearily, Kit said, "Got it, Captain."

The kitchen was filthy. Garbage was strewn all over the floor and there was crusty food splattered on the walls from countless food fights.

"I want this floor clean enough to eat off of. No more of this dirt and stickery."

"Yes, Captain."

After Karnage left, Kit started picking up garbage. "Why are pirates such slobs?"

_**Two Hours Later**_

Kit walked out of the kitchen with a full trash can. It had taken him two whole hours just to pick up the trash and scrape the food off the walls. After he disposed of the trash, _finally_ he could mop and move to the next room.

As he struggled with the putrid-smelling, cumbersome trash can, who should come strolling down the hallway but Mad Dog and Dumptruck.

"There's the little protege, picking up garbage." Mad Dog smirked.

Dumptruck snickered. "Do you like your new job?"

"Maybe we should help out."

"Right."

They both took hold of the trash can and dumped it over Kit's head, burying him in a mound of trash.

"Thanks a lot, guys!" Kit gasped, pushing his way up through the used paper products, rancid rinds, and an unidentifiable greyish brown glop.

Between guffaws, the pirates said, "Don't mention it."

"Our pleasure."

"See ya," Mad Dog sneered. "Wouldn't wanna be ya."

Chuckling, Dumptruck added, "Yeah."

As they continued down the hallway, they lustily sang, "Old MacDonald had a farm..."

Kit glared after them. "I'll Old MacDonald you," he muttered. With a sigh, he turned the trash can upright and started to pile the trash back into it.

_**Iron Vulture  
3:30 AM**_

Kit, exhausted, aching, and angry, carried the mop and the bucket of water into the radio room. After he had cleaned this room, he could sleep. He was so tired that he knew that he could even sleep through his roommates' snoring.

But before he started mopping, he decided to take a little rest.

He sank into the leather chair. Before him was the radio. He had seen it used, so he knew how it worked. He donned the headphones and flipped the switch to turn it on, but all he heard was static.

He turned the knob to a different frequency.

More static.

_Guess there's nobody up at this time of night._

Despite his fading hopes, he continued to turn the knob slowly. He was desperate to hear a friendly voice, even if it was the voice of a stranger.

Finally, he heard a man say, "...your position? Over."

"Flying above the NoSmokey Mountains. Will reach Cape Suzette by 0430 hours. Over."

"Cargo onboard? Over."

"Cargo is onboard and secure. You know, this is one pretty stone. Bigger than any ruby my grandmother has. Over."

"You shouldn't be talking about the stone, Duane. Over."

"Relax, Carl. No one's listening this time of night. Over."

"You'd better hope not. That thing is worth a fortune and if it falls into the wrong hands, the big boss will be steamed. Over."

"Gosh! I mean _gosh_," Kit whispered to himself. He had stumbled onto something both interesting _and_ valuable. He pressed the headphones closer to his ears, eagerly listening for more information.

"What Shere Khan doesn't know won't hurt him. Over."

Static ripped through the headphones, causing Kit to wince.

"...was that, Duane? Over."

"...storm. Nothing...about. Over."

"...know what'll happen if you...by lightning. Over."

An intense burst of static made Kit's ears tingle. As he removed the headphones, his mind was awhirl.

A jewel worth a fortune? That was exactly what he needed to break free from the pirates once and for all and buy a plane of his own.

But how to get it?

After accidentally blowing up three CT-37s, he knew Karnage would keep closer tabs on him. He couldn't fly and he definitely couldn't swim from Pirate Island.

Slowly, an idea came to him. _Maybe if I can get Karnage to steal it for me._

BANG! went the radio room's door as it slammed shut behind someone.

Kit spun in the chair, his heart leaping into his throat. In the doorway stood Don Karnage, clad in his purple monogrammed bathrobe. He held a sandwich and had a book - _Do It Yourself Electronics -_ tucked under one arm.

"What are you doing sitting down, you juvenile delinkity-wink? Get back to work!"

"Whatever you say, Captain." Kit shrugged. His mind was working overtime as he hopped out of the chair and plunged the mop into the bucket. "Guess you don't want to hear about something that can make you the richest man in the world."

"What do you know that I don't know yet?"

As he mopped, he said airily, "Oh...it's not _that_ important. Just a jewel. You've stolen tons of jewels before."

Karnage dropped his sandwich and book, grabbed Kit by the front of his shirt, and lifted the boy so that they were face to face. "Spill the baked beans."

"Well, I was listening to the radio..." Kit said slowly. He knew that the more he prolonged the suspense, the more Karnage would be interested.

"The jewel!" The captain tightened his grasp on the boy's sweater. "What about it?"

"A giant ruby...worth a fortune," Kit gasped out. "Best part of it is that it belongs to..."

"Who, who, who?"

"Shere Khan."

Karnage shook Kit roughly until his head felt like a maraca. "Anything else?"

"That's all I heard," Kit said, truthfully enough.

Karnage dropped Kit like a hot potato. After putting on the headphones to hear about the jewel for himself, he glared at Kit. "What are you lying there for, boy?"

"The mopping...?" Kit began, pointing towards the mop and bucket.

"You are done. _Finito._Go. Leave me in pieces."

Biting his lip to keep from smiling, Kit slowly got to his feet and gathered the mop and bucket, all the while intently watching Karnage.

The pirate captain was muttering, "I don't care a hooting owl about Aunt Milly's gallstones. Tell me about the jewel. The jewel!"

Suddenly, Karnage seemed extremely interested in something that he had heard. He scooped up _Do It Yourself Electronics_ and flipped it open.

Kit jumped, startled, when the captain whooped for joy.

Karnage flung the headphones aside and rushed out of the room, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Get up, you very stupid pirates! Get up! I have a very important-type announcement! "

"Wait!" Kit cried, chasing after him. "What is it, Captain?"

"We are going to plunder Cape Suzette, and this time it _will_ work!"

"But...but how?" Kit couldn't see how a they could plunder Cape Suzette with a mere jewel.

Karnage smiled fondly down at him. "I will not tell you at this momentous moment, my boy, but you can be very ensured that it will give a whole new meaning to the word 'piratical proceedings'."

End of part 3


	4. Chapter 4

**Hopes and Schemes  
part 4**

_TaleSpin_ and its characters are the property of Disney/Buena Vista Television and are used without permission. All other characters are mine and cannot be used without permission.

_**Pirate Island  
The Next Afternoon**_

Rays from the setting sun filtered down through the clouds, transforming both the sky and the sea into a brilliant orange. Kit, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back to the cave wall, glanced up from polishing his airfoil to admire the beautiful scenery. It looked just like a picture surrounded by a jagged, rocky frame.

This small cave, complete with a 'window' overlooking the ocean, was one of his favorite thinking places. Since it was far from the caverns utilized by the other pirates, he could sit undisturbed amongst the shadows and drift into the land of daydreams. He folded his airfoil with a press of a button and concealed it beneath his sweater. Propping his head in his hands, he gazed out over the sparkling ocean, filled with a restless longing to fly to the horizon and beyond.

And once he got his hands on that jewel mentioned by the pilots on the radio the night before, his dream would become a reality.

There was only one catch: His plan for escaping the pirates hinged largely on the pirates.

A million questions crowded into his mind as he absently stared at a point on the horizon. Would Karnage steal the jewel? And if Karnage stole the jewel, how could he, Kit, get it? And once he got it, how could he get away? And once he got away, where would he go?

Frankly, Kit really didn't care where he went as long as it was away from the air pirates.

He was sick of being kicked around. Sick of being bossed around. Sick of the brutality. Sick of the pointless plundering. Honest Kit hated stealing. Stealing to survive was one thing, but stealing just to steal was wrong. He was tired of being bullied, of being surrounded by crude, rough, ignorant pirates, of constantly having to be on the defensive, of having to fight for everything he had, of not being able to trust anyone. He was just sick of being a pirate.

Once he got the jewel and had gotten away from the pirates, he'd somehow find Shere Khan and return it to him. Surely the richest man in the world would reward him for recovering his precious jewel. That way, everybody would win. He'd have money and his freedom and Shere Khan would regain his property.

Don Karnage and his band of pirates would be the only losers in the deal, and Kit knew from experience that they wouldn't take the loss of the valuable jewel well. But he _had_ to escape and he wasn't going to go back to being a penniless street urchin, not when he had the chance to have a few dollars and a plane of his own.

Kit gritted his teeth in determination. He was no quitter. He'd escape from the pirates somehow or die trying...which he knew might very well be possible.

His thoughts were interrupted by an ear-splitting klaxon horn that signaled the _Iron Vulture's_ return.

The boy roughly brushed his hand across his eyes. A second later, his usual tough expression had replaced his fleeting look of despair.

He sprang to his feet and hurried out of the cave, into the dusky, narrow, winding passageway that led down, down, down towards the cove where the _Iron Vulture_ was moored.

At the tunnel's end, Kit slammed into Hal, causing the fat feline to drop the box he had been carrying.

"Why don't you watch where you're going, shrimp?"

"I_ was_ watching where I was going, and if _you_ had been watching where I was going, I wouldn't have run into you," Kit said rudely.

Confused, Hal stammered, "Oh...sorry."

"No problem. I'll let it slide this time."

Hal picked up the box, pondering what the boy had said. "If he was...and I was..."

Kit grinned and jogged towards the _Iron Vulture's _open beak where the other pirates were unloading their recently stolen loot.

As he approached, he heard Mad Dog saying, "Flagpoles and wire? Has the captain gone crazy?"

Don Karnage, breathing heavily with anger, stalked over to the lanky ferret and smacked him across the face. "_Never_...call...me...that...word!"

Mad Dog rubbed his sore cheek. "A thousand groveling apologies, Captain."

"Vhat do ve need with all dis junk?" Dumptruck wondered.

Karnage bristled with indignation. "Junk? _Junk?_ JUNK? This is not junk! These are the finest flagpoles and wires that pirates can steal. And once we have everything, we will be able to steal the finest whatever whenever we want. Do you not see?_ Si?_"

"No..." droned the confused pirates.

The pirate captain sighed. Just once, he'd like to meet a pirate who had the slightest glimmer of brains. "Of course you can't, because only I can do what I do the way I do it."

"Huh?" A few of the pirates scratched their scruffy heads.

"Very well. Let me let you fooligans in on a little, tiny secret."

The pirates leaned in closer, eager to hear what their captain had to say.

"This...thingy..." he said, for lack of a better word, "is a need-to-know thingy and only _I_ need to know about it, you know?" With a little chuckle, Karnage walked away, feeling vastly pleased with himself.

"Vhat did he say, Mad Dog?" Dumptruck asked.

"Search me. I still think the captain is..." Mad Dog made sure Don Karnage was far away before mouthing: "Crazy."

_**Khan Towers  
Two Weeks Later  
3:00 AM**_

Clouds, driven by a tempestuous wind, scudded rapidly across the sky, foreshadowing an approaching storm. The intermittent shafts of moonlight that pierced the clouds turned objects that were familiar and friendly by day into forbidding, fearsome monsters. In downtown Cape Suzette, a lone withered leaf skittered across the deserted street in front of Khan Towers where it took shelter in the warm glow at the base of the streetlight.

High above the streets, Shere Khan sat behind a raised podium in an amphitheater-like room. Khan Industries' departmental managers - all middle-aged, grey male panthers wearing almost identical grey suits - sat in a semicircle around him.

The manager furthest to the right stifled a yawn, then whispered to his neighbor, "These late-night meetings are ridiculous."

His colleague murmured, "Business waits for no man, especially Shere Khan."

When their boss looked sternly in their direction, they turned their attention to the speaker.

Jenkins, the head of Energy, was saying, "All coal-burning plants are at one hundred percent capacity and..."

Just then, Owen, Shere Khan's right hand man, burst into the room. "Mr. Khan! Mr. Khan, sir!"

Khan frowned down on the interloper from his lofty height. "I thought I told you never to interrupt me during a meeting."

Feeling about two inches tall, the scrawny tiger stammered, "Y-yes, sir, but this is important!"

Khan sighed. If it wasn't more than a million dollars, he didn't consider it important. "What is it?"

"Air pirates have hijacked one of your cargo ships, sir."

The podium gained a few more claw marks courtesy of Shere Khan. "And what did they steal _this_ time?"

"You aren't going to believe it, sir."

"Try me."

Owen cringed and tugged nervously on his tail. He hated to be the bearer of bad tidings. Shere Khan always made him feel as if it were somehow his fault. His voice trembled when he said, "Railroad track."

The departmental managers muttered confusedly amongst themselves. "Railroad track?"

Khan quirked a disbelieving eyebrow. "Railroad track?"

Owen nodded. "Meant for your railroad in Zambeezee."

"I am aware of their intended destination," Khan said dryly. "What about the diamond-tipped drill bits that were also in that shipment?"

"Don Karnage said that they were worthless."

"One point five million dollars of diamond-tipped drill bits...worthless?"

"Yes, sir," said the yes-man.

While Khan silently mulled this over, he absently scraped one claw against the desk. After a few tense moments, he said impatiently, "Is that all, Owen?"

"Yes, sir." Owen, realizing that that was his cue to leave, scurried out of the room.

"Continue, Jenkins," Shere Khan said curtly.

_**Pirate Island  
Two Weeks Later  
Night**_

Glancing over his shoulder every few steps, Kit purposefully, yet furtively, made his way from his bedroom through the _Iron Vulture_. Karnage had recently decreed that anyone caught sneaking around the workshop, day or night, would be hung by their pinkies. That threat may have deterred the other pirates, but not Kit. It only made him more curious to find out what Ratchet had been building. Whatever that thing was, it made Karnage extremely happy. And since Karnage wouldn't tell him what it was, he'd just have to find out for himself.

Just as he was about to turn the corner, Kit stopped in his tracks. He had heard a noise akin to a puppy's whimper. With his back to the wall, he cautiously peeked around the corner. The boy sighed with relief when he realized that the noise was coming from Hacksaw, who had fallen asleep on guard duty. The brawny canine stood in the middle of the corridor, his arms folded across the butt of his shotgun, his head resting on his arms. As Kit tiptoed past him, he twitched slightly and let out another whimper as if he were having a bad dream.

Kit scurried through the hallway and down the stairs. As the boy hurried past the radio room, he noticed that Gibber was there. Ever since the night that Kit had heard about the stone, either Gibber or Will, Karnage's second mate, had been stationed at the radio, listening for more information about the jewel.

Quickly and quietly, Kit went out the open beak and skirted around the harbor to the cavern designated as the workshop where the pounding of a hammer and the sizzling of the welding torch could be heard at all hours of the day and night.

A fire was roaring in the large furnace, making the room feel like an oven. The tarp that usually covered the mysterious machine had been thrown off. Rachet stood on a platform, his welding mask pulled down over his face. Sparks were flying from his welding torch. For a few moments, Kit gazed at the huge contraption, constructed from an array of diverse items that had been stolen one by one from Shere Khan's cargo planes and ships.

Kit took a deep breath and strutted over to the base of the platform where Ratchet was working. "Yo!" he shouted to get the mechanic's attention.

Ratchet turned off the welding torch, pushed up his mask, and looked down at the boy. "The captain know you're here, kid?"

"The captain doesn't need to know everything," Kit replied insolently. "Need any help?"

"Sure," Ratchet said with his habitual sniff which made it seem like he had a perpetual cold. "I could use a hand."

Kit scrambled up the ladder to the platform.

Ratchet placed an industrial-strength spring up against the machine's metal frame. "Hold this there." When Kit took hold of it, the spring slipped a fraction of an inch lower. The mechanic jerked the spring up, snapping, "No, _there_." He flipped down his welding mask.

Kit squeezed his eyes shut to protect them from the blinding light of the welding arc. When the mechanic turned off the torch and inspected his work, the boy asked casually, "So, what's this thing for?"

"To get into Cape Suzette." _Sniff_.

"How?"

"You sure ask a lot of questions." He took a book from his tool belt and flipped to a marked page.

"I helped steal this stuff, I figure I got a right to know how this thing works."

Ratchet looked at Kit for a long time as if he was considering what to say. Finally, he muttered, "It's too complicated for a kid like you." _Sniff._

"Try me," Kit said, peeking over the mechanic's arm at the book.

"Nuh-huh." Ratchet slammed the book shut and shoved it back into his tool belt. "The captain wouldn't like it."

Becoming frustrated at the lack of answers, Kit sputtered, "W-well...then could you give me a demonstration?"

"Can't."_ Sniff._ "It ain't put together yet, 'cause I ain't got all the parts."

"What other parts do you need?"

Vaguely Ratchet said, "Couple of things." _Sniff_. "Run along, kid. It's way past your bedtime."

As he climbed down the ladder, Kit muttered under his breath, "Thanks for nothing. I hate being a kid. No one ever tells you _anything_."

_**Iron Vulture  
Christmas**_

Like every other day for the past month, one of Shere Khan's captured cargo planes rolled into the _Iron Vulture's_ hangar. The fact that it was Christmas made no difference to either Shere Khan, who insisted that Christmas was just another business day, or to Don Karnage, whose plan was to plunder every one of Khan's cargo planes that came his way.

Don Karnage chuckled to himself as he strolled towards the captured plane's cargo hold door. "Santa has deposited yet another present in our stockings, my mangy minions. It is time to rip off the wrappings and get to the goodies inside!"

With an excited cheer, the pirates jimmied open the door with crowbars, then hopped into the cargo hold. In the middle of the cargo hold was a single, large crate, twice as tall as it was wide. Splayed across each of the four sides of the crate was 'Fragile', 'This Side Up' in big, red letters. Through one hole in the crate, a beak protruded. Through another hole, a bulging, darting eye watched them. A tuft of purple feathers stuck out of yet another hole. A chorus of muffled squawking came from within.

But what was really noticeable was the overpowering stench.

"Ew, yuck!" Mad Dog exclaimed. His hand automatically flew to his nose. "Something smells...funny."

"Don't look at me," Dumptruck said, his hand over his own nose. "I took a bath last veek."

Due to the clothespin on his nose, the panther pilot said nasally, "I wouldn't open that if I were you."

"But you are not me. Don Karnage can leave no stone unturned, no crate unopened." He pushed a couple of other pirates closer to the crate while he, himself, moved closer to the door. "Open it!"

His eyes watering, Kit murmured, "Do we have to?"

Karnage hopped out of the plane, shouting, "I will wait out here where it is safe, I mean, so you can see the present first."

"Gee, thanks," Kit said sarcastically.

When the pirates stuck their crowbars in the crate to pry it open, the panther pilot retreated into the cockpit and slammed the door behind him. Before the pirates knew what was happening, they were engulfed in a flurry of feathers, flapping wings, and pecking beaks.

"What are these?" Kit shouted over the discordant squawking. He attempted to shield his face with his hands while struggling to push their assailants back into the crate.

"Gor..." Mad Dog coughed, then spit a feather out of his mouth. "Gorilla birds! Ow! Get away from me, you stupid bird! That's my nose, not your dinner!"

Finally, after struggling for several minutes, they managed to corral the birds in the crate. The pirates, tired, sweaty, reeking, and covered in feathers and peck marks, fled from the cargo hold moments before the plane flew out of the hangar.

With a wan laugh, Don Karnage said, "Merry...Christmas?"

The pirates collapsed in a heap.

_**Pirate Island  
New Year's Eve**_

Leaning against the wall in the main cavern, Kit ran a finger underneath the uncomfortable elastic band that strapped his party hat to his head. He felt stupid wearing the purple polka-dotted hat, but pretending to enjoy the lame New Year's Eve party was the perfect excuse for keeping tabs on Don Karnage. At the moment, the pirate captain was immensely enjoying sitting on his throne-like chair in the middle of the cave, a real gold crown on his well-groomed head, barking orders to the minions who were waiting on him hand and foot.

For more than a month, Kit had been trying to figure out Karnage's zealously guarded secret behind the mysterious, monstrous machine in the workshop. But more importantly, he wanted to know about Karnage's plans to steal the jewel. Every day, he became more and more impatient to quit the air pirates. The boy knew that only by sticking close to the captain would he get the answers he'd been looking for.

Kit was momentarily distracted from his self-appointed surveillance when Mad Dog and Dumptruck walked past him towards the winding passageway that led to the outdoor ledge where Karnage liked to sunbathe.

"This year, we're gonna bring the New Year in with a bang," Mad Dog said with a nasal chuckle.

Dumptruck followed him, carrying a large crate. From the top of the crate protruded rockets and coils of fuse. "Yeah, vith lots and lots of firevorks!"

"And they say _kids_ shouldn't play with matches," Kit muttered under his breath. His eyes wandered around the room, wondering how much longer the so-called party was going to last.

Except for Don Karnage smacking Sadie for bringing him green grapes instead of purple, the most exciting thing happening was over by the refreshment table where Hal and Hacksaw were arguing over the last cookie.

Kit strolled over to them. "Hey, guys. Whoa!" he gasped, pretending to be astonished by something behind them. "What's that over there?"

When both pirates spun around to look, Kit swiped the cookie and hurried away.

"What's the big idea, kid?" Hal said, turning towards the table. "There's nothin' there." He looked down at the empty plate, crestfallen. "There's nothin' here either."

Hacksaw peered under the rickety card table, searching for the cookie. "Where'd it go?"

In a shadowy corner of the cave, on the opposite side of the room from the refreshment table, Kit gobbled down the stale chocolate chip cookie. As he wiped the crumbs from his sweater, he noticed Gibber enter the cave and whisper something into Don Karnage's ear.

Karnage nodded at Gibber, then shouted, "The party is over! Everyone, go away!"

"But it isn't midnight yet, Captain," Hal pointed out.

"When_I_ say it's midnight, it's midnight! Go!" To emphasize his point, he drew his pistol and shot at the ceiling, causing them to be showered with rocks.

Grumbling amongst themselves, the pirates filed out of the room. Kit, however, flattened himself to the stalagmite he was hiding behind and listened with all his might.

When it appeared that only Karnage and Gibber remained, the captain said, "Now, tell me all the little, minuet detailings that Khan's chatty pilots spilled all over the radio and into your listening ear."

Kit, knowing that his whole future depended on this, strained to hear what Gibber was muttering into the captain's eager ear.

"Tomorrow from the power plant in NoSmokey Mountains to Cape Suzette for more testings?"

With a nod, Gibber murmured briefly.

"Starting from the mountains at 3 PM? Good," Karnage said with a business-like air. "We will steal it then."

Gibber muttered something else into the pirate captain's ear.

"Who cares about the rest of the cargo?" Karnage said impatiently. "It is expandable."

Just then, Kit accidentally kicked a pebble. The unlucky pebble skidded across the rocky floor, bouncing off other rocks and stalagmites like a ball inside a pinball machine, making a noisy, echoing racket in the large, silent cavern.

Don Karnage was immediately on his feet. "What's that? Who's there? Show your miserable self, or I will show my sword to you!" Swift as summer lightning, he drew his sword from his scabbard, prompting Gibber to jump out of the way. The pirate captain pivoted to the north, to the east, to the south, then to the west, scanning the remotest recesses of the cave. Spying the edge of Kit's red bandana peeking out from behind the stalagmite, he said in a triumphant, sing-song voice, "I am seeing you! Whoever you are, I will slice you and dice you into a million fragments for listening to Karnage's secrets!"

Kit's heart pounded in sync with Karnage's boots, which were coming closer...

Closer...

Kit silently cursed himself for getting stuck in a corner with no exit. His mind raced to conjure up a plausible excuse for being there. Suddenly, he looked down and, seeing something, bent down to scoop it up.

"Got you, boy!" Karnage swooped down on Kit and picked him up by the scruff of the neck. "Now..." the pirate captain snarled, his razor-sharp teeth mere inches from the boy's face. "What have you to say for your pipping-squeak self?"

"Get your own cockroach!" Kit retorted.

"C-cockroach?" Karnage sputtered in surprise.

"Cockroach. For the races." The boy opened his hand to reveal a cockroach munching on a cookie crumb. He held it close to Karnage's face.

Repulsed, Karnage dropped the boy. When Kit hit the ground with a 'thump', the roach fell from his hand.

"Ew, ew, ew! Nasty creepy-crawly!" The pirate captain skewered the insect with the tip of his sword.

Kit scrambled to his feet and was about to make a break for it when Karnage caught him by his scarf. He threw the boy to the ground and wagged his finger at him. "Ah-ah-ah. I'm not through dealing with you yet." He raised his sword high above his head, a murderous gleam in his eyes.

Trembling in terror, Kit huddled on the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, determined not to cry out in pain.

Just when he had thought he had drawn his last breath, there were several loud, screaming whistles, followed by cave-shaking _booms!_

Kit opened his eyes just in time to see Gibber and Karnage being chased, yelling and screaming, around the room by a blazing rocket. Thankful for Mad Dog and Dumptruck's stupidity, he lost no time in making his escape.

_**Riversidle  
New Year's Eve**_

Rebecca, clad in a nightgown and robe, was lounging on the living room couch. Beside her, the radio was playing softly.

"...Dirk Cluck bringing you the New Year's Eve party from Cape Suzette. The main square is packed as the clock approaches midnight..."

But she really wasn't interested in anything Dirk Cluck was saying. All she could think about was the failing business she had learned about earlier today. Air cargo sounded so adventurous and romantic. Her thoughts were consumed with the places she would go and the things she would do, not to mention all the money she would make.

While Rebecca's thoughts were fixated on a fitting, yet memorable name for an air cargo business, Molly padded down the stairs and into the living room with Lucy in tow. Through a yawn, the little girl said, "Is it next year yet?"

"No, and you should be in bed, young lady."

"But me and Lucy wanna see next year. _Pleeeeease?_"

"Oh, all right," Rebecca said reluctantly, wondering how Molly always managed to get around her. "But just until midnight, then straight back to bed."

"Yay!" Molly hopped up on the couch beside her mother and snuggled up next to her.

Rebecca wrapped her arms around the little girl and kissed the top of her head. "A lot of good things are going to happen for us in 1937. I may have found us an air cargo business today."

"You mean, one with a plane?" Molly asked excitedly.

Rebecca nodded. "With a plane. It's in Cape Suzette."

"Where's Cape Suzette?"

"It's about an hour's drive from here, near the ocean. We'll have to pack up all our stuff and move there."

"When?"

"As soon as the bank forecloses on the loan. The current owner is six months behind on his payments."

"When will_ that_ be?"

Rebecca smiled at the note of impatience in her daughter's voice. "The man at the bank said that he was giving Baloo, that's the current owner, until the end of next week, and if he doesn't pay, we're going to buy it and make lots of money shipping cargo all over the world."

"Baloo's a funny name," Molly remarked.

Rebecca gave her a fond smile. "It_ is_ unusual, but the bank said he's a terrific pilot."

"A pilot?" Molly exclaimed. "Think he'll take me on plane rides? Think he'll teach me and Lucy how to fly?" She 'flew' her doll through the air, making engine noises.

"Maybe, honey," Rebecca said with a twinge of anxiety. For the first time she wondered what kind of a man she would be exposing her young, impressionable daughter to. She had a vague idea that pilots were irresponsible, free spirits who needed a lot of discipline. It was obvious that this one especially needed discipline, because he certainly didn't know how to run a business.

As Molly continued to play airplane with Lucy, Rebecca's gaze turned to the window behind the back of the couch. She smiled. Their future seemed as bright as the stars that shone in the sky.

_**Louie's  
New Year's Eve**_

To the southwest, the same stars were twinkling over Louie's Place. It was nearly midnight, but the party had just begun to be in full swing. Music blaring from the nightclub could have been heard from miles away. Simian waiters balancing trays of frothy fruit drinks swung on ropes above the crowded dance floor where the most energetic dancer was Baloo.

When the jazzy tune ended, Baloo headed over to bar, panting a little.

Behind the bar, Louie was mixing up a fruity drink, his long arms and legs seeming to be everywhere at once. "Hey, check out that chick by the stage, cuz. I know who I wanna be kissin' when the clock strikes twelve."

Baloo, catching a glimpse of the young, raven-haired vixen, grinned as he plumped down on a barstool. "Roger that. Some party, huh?"

"Not bad for a night's work," Louie replied, taking a couple of shaboozies from a customer and stuffing them into his overflowing cash register till.

"Work." Baloo cringed as if the word offended him. "As my ol' daddy used to say: work is fine for killin' time, but it's a shaky way to make a livin'."

Louie chuckled. "Yeah, but for us who didn't inherit a ka-jillion shaboozies and who like three squares a day and a roof over our heads, work is the _only_ way to make a livin'."

Grumpily, Baloo muttered under his breath, "Work ain't my definition of livin'."

Baloo's expression grew thoughtful as he absently stared at the crowd. This was as far away from work as he could possibly get. Therefore, he should have been ecstatically happy. He loved to party, loved dancing, loved to mingle with others, and especially loved flirting with pretty girls, but tonight he wasn't in the mood. In fact, he was a little bored. All the faces seemed the same. Even the music seemed old. Or maybe it was him that was getting old. For the first time in his life, he considered leaving a party early. He felt as if he needed to spend time with a friend who had never let him down, who never made him feel old, who never made him feel lonely, namely the_ Sea Duck_. Flying always cheered him up by providing a way to escape the troubles of the world.

"Earth to Baloo." Louie blew a noisemaker in Baloo's face, startling the big bear. "What's with the long face?"

"Whatcha mean?" Baloo quickly assumed an overly bright smile. "I'm flyin' high."

"You got that right," Louie said with a knowing look. "Your head has been in the clouds all night. C'mon, cuz, ditch the deception an' dish the dirt. You can't fool your oldest and bestest pal."

Baloo shrugged. The smile slid from his face. "Just antsy in the pantsy, I guess. Holidays always get me a little down in the dumpster."

Louie had been friends with Baloo for such a long time that he knew what the big bear had left unspoken. Holidays were a time for being with family and, being a middle-aged bachelor with no family himself, he suspected what Baloo was feeling. He conveyed his sympathy through a friendly slap on the shoulder. "Ol' Doc Louie's got the sure cure for the blues, Baloo. One Mango Fizz, heavy on the fizz."

"Thanks, my man."

"Now, I'm gonna go personally welcome that dishy dame to Louie's fine establishment." He licked his palm, removed his hat, and slicked back what remained of his thinning hair before nimbly vaulting over the bar.

Baloo downed the drink in one gulp, then passed the back of his hand across his mouth. "Not if I beat you to her."

_**Khan Towers  
New Year's Eve**_

The downtown streets of Cape Suzette were packed with revelers, eager to usher in the new year with music, dancing, and fireworks. In the middle of the square, people of all ages and species were gathered around the stage from where Dirk Cluck was introducing the next act.

"Looks like we have time for one more song in 1936," Dirk Cluck, the popular emcee, said into the microphone. "Ladies and gentleman, the Gandrews Sisters!"

The crowd let out a deafening roar as the newest singing sensations, the Gandrews Sisters, took their places at the microphones and the band started playing.

Ninety stories above, a dropped pin could have been heard in the quiet, serene office of Shere Khan.

Khan stood at the large window, gazing out over Cape Suzette. Clad in a black monogrammed, silk robe with a drink in his hand, he mulled over the past year and thought about the year to come. Below him, the people were only thinking of tonight. They weren't gifted with his far-seeing vision, a necessary trait for making him the wealthiest man in the world.

And thanks to the sub-electron amplifier, which would revolutionize the way power was generated, he would become more rich and more powerful. As of next week, all the electric power he needed or would ever need would be produced by something that fit in the palm of his hand.

When the fireworks were let off over the cliffs, signifying the beginning of the new year, he raised his crystal champagne glass. "To 1937...and the future."

_**Meanwhile...  
Riversidle**_

Amid the cheering on the radio, Rebecca hugged Molly with a joyful, "Happy New Year, honey."

_**Meanwhile...  
Louie's**_

When Baloo and Louie both tried to kiss the raven-haired vixen's cheeks, she ducked, causing them to kiss each other.

"Yee-uck!" Baloo cried, spluttering.

"Blech!" Louie spat. He grabbed someone's drink from a nearby table and gargled with its contents.

_**Meanwhile...  
Pirate Island**_

Fireworks were still popping and whistling throughout Pirate Island, filling the caverns with smoke.

Amid the fireworks, Don Karnage lifted his glass and choked out, "To the future, and the beginning of a new error."

Kit, who had fled to his favorite 'thinking cave', following his near brush with death was now more determined than ever to escape Pirate Island. He looked out over the dark, rolling waters, sprinkled with the light of a million stars and illuminated with the intermittent, multi-colored flashes of fireworks. "Only one more week to freedom," he murmured to himself.

_**One Week Later  
Thursday Afternoon  
Khan Towers**_

An extremely nervous Dr. Debolt was alternately pacing and hopping in front of Shere Khan's huge desk.

Always calm, cool, and composed, Khan drawled from behind his newspaper, "Calm yourself, Doctor."

Dr. Debolt paced even more furiously. "Do you know how many hours have gone into this? All the research, the trials, the failures, the..."

"The stone will arrive at my power plant." The businessman leisurely turned a page in the newspaper.

"But the pirates!" the scientist squeaked. "They've hijacked every plane in the last three weeks!"

"My best pilot is flying my fastest plane to get it there. Besides, other than the pilot, yourself, and myself, no one knows of the stone's whereabouts."

"What if it falls into the pirates' hands?"

"Then they'll receive a nasty shock, won't they?" Shere Khan smiled grimly at the skittish rabbit.

Before Dr. Debolt could open his mouth to offer one more protest, Khan folded the newspaper and placed it on his desk. "If Don Karnage does steal it, he won't know what it is. Your secret is safe, Doctor."

"But...!"

Khan held up a hand. "Furthermore, Karnage recently seems to be only interested in hardware, not jewels." He picked up a list and read from it. "Wire, flagpoles, railroad track, glass tubing." He pushed the list in Dr. Debolt's direction. "If you can tell me how Don Karnage is going to profit off these items, then I'll listen to your concerns."

"But...!"

"Good day." Shere Khan once more retreated behind the newspaper, an irrefutable signal that the matter was closed.

Knowing that he couldn't argue with the great and powerful Shere Khan, Dr. Debolt picked up the list and left.

_**Meanwhile...  
Baloo's Air Service**_

With a nail protruding from the corner of his mouth and a hammer in his hand, Wildcat knelt on a loose floorboard in the office.

"I'm headin' to Louie's, Wildcat," Baloo said as he came down the stairs, skirting around all the boxes and junk piled on them. He didn't normally spend this much time at Louie's, but he had to go somewhere and do something. He could only sleep and eat so much, and frankly, he was a little bored, but not bored enough to work. He was_ never_ that bored. "Can you take a peek at the sewer lines while I'm gone? I think they're plugged up somewheres. The bathroom has a funny smell to it."

"Funnier than usual?" Wildcat murmured around the nail.

"Yeah. Thanks!" Baloo said, banging the door shut on his way out.

Just after he nailed the floorboard down, the mechanic heard:

_Ring! Ring!_

Surprised, Wildcat looked at his hammer. "You say something?"

_Ring! Ring!_

"Oh, it's the telephone!" he realized with a good-natured laugh.

_Ring! Ring!_

Wildcat dug underneath a pile of papers, following the sound of the ringing, to find the phone. "Hello? Uh-huh. Nope, he's not here right now. Uh-huh. Sure. I'll give him a message. You're going to stop by later today to discuss the...what? Fore-close-sure." He sounded out the unfamiliar word slowly. "Yup. Sure. I'll tell him. 'Kay, bye." He hung the receiver back on the cradle, crossed the room, and opened a trap door in the floor. He then dropped his hammer into one pocket of his grimy overalls, and fished a wrench out of another pocket. "Come on, Silver, we've got to find a poor little plugged up sewer pipe." Whistling, he disappeared down the ladder into the basement.

_**Meanwhile...  
Riversidle**_

Rebecca hung up the phone and turned to her daughter. "Well, that does it. If we buy the business, the movers will bring the rest of our things to Cape Suzette tomorrow."

"_Now_ can we go?" Molly said impatiently.

"Yes, Pumpkin," Rebecca said, patting her daughter's golden head.

"Yay!" Molly rushed outside to the car with Lucy in tow.

Rebecca gathered her purse, suitcase, and her daughter's suitcase, then gave one last look around the room. Except for the boxes and furniture piled in the entry way, ready for the movers to pick up, the house was bare.

At any other time, she would have cried, but her excitement about the future outweighed her sorrow about letting go of part of the past. Smiling, she walked out of the house for the last time and shut the door.

She placed the suitcases into the car's trunk alongside a couple of boxes containing bedding and other personal items. In order to be at the Cape Suzette National Bank first thing in the morning, they were going to drive there this afternoon and stay in a motel overnight. Rebecca wanted to make sure that no one snapped up the air cargo service that she had mentally dubbed Higher for Hire before her.

After getting into the driver's seat, Rebecca grinned over at Molly, who was fairly bursting with excitement.

"Lucy is real happy we're gonna buy a business and an airplane."

Laughing, Rebecca playfully tweaked the little girl's nose. Molly had talked of nothing but airplanes all week. "I'm with Lucy," she said, starting the car.

_**Meanwhile...  
Iron Vulture**_

Kit, hiding in the vent, heard Don Karnage and a few other pirates clomp towards the control room. His heart was pounding, his hands were sweating, his nerves were pushed to the breaking point. This was it. This was the day that he was going to escape from the air pirates. However, the only way out was through everything he was running from, meaning that he had to escape quickly; otherwise, the pirates would kill him for what he was about to do. He mentally prepared himself for the chase of his life.

His spirits rose when the small treasure chest Karnage clutched came into view. The chest alone could be worth something, but the jewel that he knew to be inside was worth a fortune. It was his ticket out of there.

Kit jumped, slightly startled, when Don Karnage cleared the table directly below him with one sweep of his arm. Charts, pens, and ink went flying onto the floor. The pirate captain then reverently placed the chest in the center of the rough wooden table.

"Riches, my men. Riches beyond your limited, insignificant dreams. But not beyond mine." The pirate captain's laugh held a hint of insanity. "For soon, I, Don Karnage, shall be the wealthiest man in the world!" Chortling, he spun around happily.

_Here goes everything..._ Kit thought. Taking a deep breath, he kicked the vent grate open and jumped down into the room.

The End


End file.
